


Kind Tempests

by moemachina



Category: Shakespeare - Twelfth Night
Genre: M/M, True Wuv, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/pseuds/moemachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio pulls Sebastian from the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind Tempests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mina Lightstar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mina+Lightstar).



> Written for Yuletide 2008.

**I.**  


His men were all industriously occupied in keeping his battered ship afloat, so Antonio himself rowed out in the longboat with his coxswain to check the body.

"Must have been the _Garnet_ ," said his coxswain, leaning into his stroke. 

"Aye," Antonio said. They slid past fragments of sail and wood floating on the surface of the water. "That storm from three nights past must have caught them unawares."

The coxswain grunted, and Antonio knew what he was thinking: even caught aware, Antonio's ship had lost a mast in the high winds and would be lucky to limp into the nearest port for repairs. But all he said was, "Three nights is a long time in the water."

"Aye," Antonio said. The coxswain had not questioned this errand, but neither of them expected to find the body alive. 

Through his long-glass, Antonio had been able to see only that a body floated in the water. When they reached it, the coxswain and Antonio saw that it was the body of a man bound by a thick piece of rope to a piece of ship-mast. His face was turned into his shoulder, and his limbs hung slackly in the water. For a moment, the longboat bobbed alongside the body in silence.

The coxswain spoke first. "'e's breathing," he said with surprise, and Antonio too saw the body's chest move faintly.

As quick as thought -- quicker, in fact, than any clear thought -- Antonio stood up in the longboat and pulled a knife from his belt. "Hold it steady, lad," he said to the startled coxswain, and then he dove into the sea.

The water was as cold as death. Antonio surfaced with a gasp and grabbed hold of the ship-mast, which slanted alarmingly under his hand. The body slid to one side, but Antonio managed to lever one of his own shoulders under the body's armpit. With his other hand, Antonio sawed at the rope with his knife. The rope was tough and thick, but it finally gave way right about when Antonio's lips began to turn blue. 

Antonio gave a little prayer of thanks that the coxswain remained tactfully silent during this performance. It had not been a carefully planned rescue, and its flaws became even more apparent when Antonio found himself floundering under the body's dead weight with the ship-mast in one hand and a knife in the other.

 _Heedless enthusiasm_ , Antonio thought, kicking furiously in the water. _Mother always said that heedless enthusiasm would be the death of me._

But not quite yet. Antonio dropped the knife (his best knife, in point of fact, and now gone forever to the bottom of the sea) and released the ship-mast, and his arms came up to embrace the body. He pulled backwards, and the body came with him, and the top of Antonio's head smacked into the side of the longboat. And then the coxswain was there with his blessedly long, orangutan-like arms, and somehow they managed to heave the body into the longboat. 

Antonio clambered over the boat's side. For a moment, all three men were capable of nothing but breathing in the bottom of the boat.

"Well," the coxswain said at last. "That was something, captain." 

"Aye," Antonio said. 

The body said nothing. The body had a handsome face and badly sunburned skin, and Antonio was relieved to see the body's chest continuing to rise and fall. 

The coxswain picked up his oar. "Not a sailor," he said, nodding at the body splayed at the bottom of the boat.

"No," Antonio said. "He must have been a passenger on that merchant vessel."

"He probably comes from somewhere," the coxswain said sagely. "Maybe his people will be grateful to have him back alive. Maybe he will be grateful himself." 

"Tangible expressions of his gratitude may have to wait," Antonio said dryly. "His gratitude may be on the other side of the world. It may be at the bottom of the sea."

The coxswain made a face, and they rowed the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the ship at last, they found Antonio's first mate waiting for them. He wore a long face.

"That bad?" Antonio asked as he stepped onto the deck.

"That bad," the first mate said. "We've sprung some new leaks this morning. We'll have to make for Farrell's Bay. It's the nearest port, although I do not know how we will be greeted there."

Antonio shrugged. "They have a new governor this year, I believe. We may find him an easier host than his predecessor. Very well, then Farrell's Bay it is. When preparations are complete, set the course."

"Yes, captain," the first mate said. He looked past Antonio, and his eyes widened. "You found a survivor, then, captain?"

Antonio turned to see the coxswain settling the longboat on the deck. "Yes. Send one of the grommets to bring fresh water. We will see if we can revive our guest." 

The coxswain had tipped the longboat on its side and was cavalierly dragging forth the body, as if it were a sack of meal. Antonio winced; the body remained unconscious. 

"He's pretty far gone, eh, captain?" the coxswain said, prodding the body on the deck with the tip of his boot. 

"Three nights is a long time in the water," Antonio said simply. He looked down to see, at his elbow, a mop-haired boy lugging a bucket and a ladle. "Thank you, laddie. Here, give that kit to...no, wait. On second thought, give it here," he said, hoping to spare the body more tender ministrations from the coxswain.

Antonio knelt beside the body. From here, he could see the salt that had dried along the body's eyelashes and nostrils. Antonio produced a (mostly clean) handkerchief and dipped it in the bucket. He pressed the damp cloth against the body's sunburned forehead, cheeks, and chin. The body's lips were cracked and bloody, and when Antonio passed his cloth over them, the body made a low sound, deep in its throat, and opened its eyes.

The man blinked twice before he focused on Antonio's face. His eyes were dark and deep.

The coxswain gave a low whistle. "Well, would you look at that. Dead to the world until you got him a just little more wet."

The man's eyes flickered toward the coxswain and then back to Antonio. "Water," he whispered at last. 

"First you must sit up. Here, like this. Lean on me." Antonio raised the man into a semi-sitting position, which was as much as the man could manage. Even with his head against Antonio's chest, his body practically sitting in Antonio's lap, he still panted from the exertion. 

With his free hand, Antonio dipped the dented ladle into the bucket and carefully brought it to man's mouth. "Now, sip this slowly and-- no! By God's teeth!" For the man had seized the ladle with one hand and greedily emptied its contents down his throat.

Immediately, he began to retch, and Antonio grimly held him around the chest as he vomited water and bile upon the deck. His body tremulously vibrated in Antonio's arms; Antonio could feel the line of his rib through his wet shirt and, past that, the thunderous explosions of his heart. 

At last there was nothing more for the man to vomit, and he crumpled against Antonio. Antonio dipped the ladle back into the bucket and brought it again to the man's mouth. "Now," he said mildly. "Sip this slowly, my lad. For if you drink it too quickly, you will make yourself sick."

The man cautiously lapped at the water, and the coxswain gave a bark of laughter. "Like a pair of cats, you two are. You like a mother with her kitten, and him like a cat at her saucer of cream." 

Antonio lifted one eyebrow at the coxswain, who immediately suppressed his giggles into a very sober coughing fit. "I am glad you find it amusing, lad. Now, if you will give me a hand, we shall get this specimen into bed."

"Aye, sir," the coxswain said, straightening. "Which cabin?" 

"Mine," Antonio said. "God knows I won't be sleeping until we make landfall. Someone might as well reap the benefits of my bed." 

With care and patience, they managed to pull the man to his feet. Antonio had some nebulous hope of guiding the rescued man gently, but that hope was thwarted when the man took one step and promptly fainted against Antonio, who then accidentally clipped the unconscious man in the head as he grabbed his sagging body. Antonio looked down at the man and then up at the coxswain in consternation. 

The coxswain shrugged. "Between the two of us, we can heave him right along."

"Like a sack of meal," Antonio muttered, but he did not argue with the coxswain's advice. The two of them managed to manhandle the unconscious man across the deck and down into the captain's cabin, where they rolled him into bed. 

"Well," the coxswain said, frowning down at the body. "That was certainly something. Think he'll benefit us in any way, captain?"

"He could be destitute and helpless, and I would not care," Antonio said. "We could not have left him to the sea."

The coxswain opened the door. "Well, of course not, captain. But it does no harm to hope our charity might have a gilded side. And I think--ugh, those whoresons are putting away my longboat in bad form, _hey, you whoresons_ \--" The rest of the coxswain's complaint was cut off as he slammed the door behind him, leaving Antonio and the body alone. 

Antonio rubbed his forehead absently. "And now I must go and make sure that everything that must be done to keep us from sinking has been done. And then I must finesse our destination with the older hands, who may be leery to return to a town that we left with such urgency last time. And then I must calculate the costs of repair and weigh how much I must put out so that I may continue to sail in the style to which I have become accustomed." He gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. "God's teeth, perhaps it is time for me to find a fat widow and settle down in some cozy _hacienda_. It would be altogether cheaper." 

He went to the door and looked back at the body in his bed. "And I must find someone to nurse you properly. After having gone to such an effort to retrieve you, I do not want you to die now. No dying, you hear me?"

The body said nothing.

Unfortunately, the ship's surgeon had jumped ship two ports ago, and Antonio could find no suitable replacement among his tired group of gunners, stewards, and coopers. So it fell upon him to act as nurse-maid for the man in his bed. 

"Captains are both the most necessary and the most superfluous ornaments during an emergency," Antonio said to the sleeping man that night as he filled out his log-book. "I must be out there periodically to make sure things are running as smoothly as possible, but I cannot do any of those things myself." He leaned back in his chair and nibbled on the edge of his quill. "And to be honest, I no longer relish things running smoothly. I would lief as have that overseen by others as I take my ease. God's teeth, I must be getting old." He ran a hand through his dark hair and laughed. "A fat widow is seeming like a better idea all the time." 

He put away his log-book and took a turn around his deck. When he returned to his cabin, the man was awake. 

"Hello," Antonio said. 

"Water," the man said. 

Antonio brought him a dipper of water, and the man drank it carefully. Antonio drew another dipper of water, and he kept drawing, and the man kept drinking, slowly but with great concentration. At last, Antonio's dipper scraped the bottom of the bucket. 

"That is enough for right now," Antonio said. "Now you should eat something, I think. I'll see what the cook can whip up in the way of gruel."

Antonio left, and when he returned, he bore a bowl of something hot and unappetizing. He fed it to the man, who was content to placidly accept each spoonful. When that was finished, Antonio gave him some more water. And then the man grew heavy-lidded and settled sleepily back against Antonio's pillows. 

"Where am I?" he whispered as his eyes closed. "Who are you?"

"Somewhere safe. And I am Captain Antonio. Who are you?"

The man said nothing for a long while. And then, at last, faintly: "Roderigo." 

"Welcome, Roderigo. Now, sleep." 

And Roderigo slept. 

**II.**

Roderigo's sunburn blistered and peeled furiously. He could not wear a shirt; he could barely wear breeches. He sat at Antonio's table and pulled damp sheets of translucent skin away from his face, his shoulders, and his back. 

"In faith, I will be happy to finish this," he said to Antonio, who was whittling away a piece of driftwood.

"Just think of yourself as a butterfly emerging from a silk cocoon," Antonio said. He blew sawdust away from his (second-best) knife and looked up at his charge. "Or as a mummy unwrapping himself." 

"Oh, to be a butterfly," Roderigo said unhappily. He left out a weary sigh and rested his head against his hand. "Oh, to be something new." 

It had been a week since Antonio had fished Roderigo from the sea, which had been time enough for Antonio to suspect certain truths about his guest. First among these suspicions was that Roderigo was constitutionally morose. Any conversation seemed to eventually turn to the subject of Roderigo's life and the bleak hopelessness thereof. The stars shone darkly on him. His fate was malignant. His sighs were loud. 

Second among Antonio's suspicions was that Roderigo had recently suffered several catastrophes, but that suspicion remained without evidence, as Roderigo grew noticeably tight-lipped whenever Antonio began to probe him on his past. There was a secret there, or maybe several.

Third among Antonio's suspicions was that Roderigo was not really named Roderigo. 

But Antonio was not unduly disturbed by these suspicions. Roderigo was not the only man with secrets, and Antonio was content to let him keep them. If anything, Antonio felt protective of Roderigo's secrets, just as Antonio felt protective of Roderigo. Sitting half-naked at the table, ceaselessly pulling at his skin, Roderigo looked frail and vulnerable. His features were delicate and his beard was wispy; in dim light, in a dress, he might have passed for a woman. 

_Maybe_ , Antonio conceded as soon as the thought crossed his mind. _In **very** dim light. And in a very good dress,_ for there was nothing woman-like about Roderigo's shirtless body.

Antonio realized that he was staring at Roderigo, and he quickly looked back at his driftwood.

"Maybe I should have perished in the sea," Roderigo said now, staring into the distance. "Maybe that was my proper destiny."

"Nonsense," Antonio said crisply. "Your proper destiny is the same as everyone else's. You are intended to live to a ripe old age and perish only after you've achieved rank, state, and fat grandchildren to dawdle on your knee. That is destiny proper; anyone who fails to meet destiny is simply subverting the will of the universe."

"The universe must be disappointed often," Roderigo said, but he smiled a little as he said it.

Roderigo's general air of tragedy had an energizing effect on Antonio, who found himself speaking with great enthusiasm about mundane things, as if he were cajoling a sullen toddler. He found himself using exaggerated rhetoric about everything. All of sudden, Antonio could not merely dislike a thing; he must hate it.

All of sudden, Antonio loved everything. At times, in fact, he was embarrassed to hear himself using the word "love" itself so often, but Roderigo -- wrapped in general gloom and tragedy -- did not appear to notice.

"I love oranges," Antonio said now, for his eyes had alighted on a bowl of fruit beside them. "Were I unfortunate enough to end up on a deserted island, I should count it no misfortune were I surrounded by orange trees. Oranges would be worth one or two disasters."

Roderigo looked up at him. "Do you regret not being able to go ashore?"

"Me? Not really, not so long as my first mate keeps me well-supplied in oranges. Do _you_ not regret staying here?"

"No," Roderigo said. "I think I am no good company for other people at the moment. And if I must be a human butterfly, I would prefer to be so in your company, Antonio."

Antonio was so startled by this statement that he bore down on his driftwood and irreparably ruined his planned design. To cover his surprise, he babbled. "Besides, I think the men would mutiny if I set foot ashore. They were very clear that I was to lay low in this hidden harbor while they arranged the terms of repair. My name, you see, is in no good odor in these waters, and I was ordered most strictly to stay out of sight."

"And yet every one of your men left."

"Well, of course. They were going crazy with cabin-fever. I am happy to have them elsewhere, frankly. And they are happy to have me here."

"I am surprised that you suffer such commands from your men," Roderigo said. 

"Are you?" Antonio asked in surprise. "We do not maintain military discipline here; I may be captain, but I am no ruling tyrant. We are...well, we are something in the way of being privateers, and as such, we are in the way of being something of a democracy." Antonio frowned down at his driftwood. "In some respects, at least. Everyone takes an equal share of our prizes, at least, and I could do nothing if I did not have the consensus of the men aboard."

Roderigo said nothing, and then he said, "I suspect you must be partly a tyrant, Antonio. I do not think democracies -- true democracies -- would work at sea." 

"Well, maybe I am pouring honey into the matter's true mixture," Antonio admitted, "but I am certainly obliged to listen to my men in some matters. Keeping a low profile is one such matter. But I think you have seen that we do not maintain any strict hierarchy here. Perhaps it is change of pace from the ships you have known." 

"Possibly," Roderigo said guardedly. "How did you come to be...something in the way of being a privateer, Antonio?"

Antonio said nothing, and then he said, softly, "I don't remember every step of that decision. It was a long time in coming." He stood up, somewhat jerkily, and made for the door.

"Wait," Roderigo said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean...anything." He looked up at Antonio, and Antonio looked down at his wide, child-like eyes and his calculating mouth. Ghostly remnants of peeled skin still clung to the corners of his nose and against the top of his hairline, and freckles stood out firmly across his cheekbones. He was not, Antonio knew suddenly, quite as young or as vulnerable as Antonio had first thought.

"No," Antonio said. "No offense taken." He rested his hand briefly against the top of Roderigo's head, like a man bestowing a benediction. "It was heedless enthusiasm that led me here. Acting without thinking has always been my besetting sin, and it has led me here: a man on a crippled ship, well-armed with letters of marque and utterly without honor."

"No," Roderigo said.

"Oh, yes," Antonio said. "You've realized the truth, I suppose? About why a ship of almost-pirates happened to come across you so fortuitously? Because we were looking for your ship, because we hoped to take you as a prize? The storm merely reached your ship before we did."

Roderigo wet his lips, and he said, "Not me."

"What?" Antonio asked, lifting his hand. 

Roderigo looked up at him with eyes dark and deep. "You did not hope to take _me_ as a prize."

Antonio blinked. "Well, no. Not you, specifically. Although we would have relieved you of any valuables on your person, I promise you."

"How much do those letters of marque absolve?" 

"More than you might think," Antonio said. "And at the same time, perhaps not quite enough." 

He left Roderigo then and went to pace the deck of his empty ship. Up and down he walked, across every plank and every nail, until the sky grew dark and thick with stars.

When he returned to his cabin at last, he found Roderigo asleep in his bed.

Antonio slept in a chair.

**III.**

Roderigo was peeling an orange with great concentration during the entirety of the first mate's speech. While Antonio kept meaning to pay the strictest attention to his first mate, he found his attention persistently wandering back to the pair of strong thumbs pressing and parting that round fruit.

Abruptly, Antonio was aware of the silence that meant his first mate had finished speaking. He looked up belatedly and said, "That bad?"

"That bad," the first mate said solemnly. "With the new treaty, our letters are dissolved."

"We could always acquire new ones. No matter how many treaties are signed, every country has at least one enemy."

"True," the first mate said. "But until those letters are secured, credit for repairing this ship will be difficult to acquire."

"But not impossible," Antonio said.

"No. Not impossible. But difficult."

"Hmm," Antonio said. "All right. Go back to town, keep an ear out, and keep in contact with the men. I will make my decision within a week."

The first mate nodded, unhappiness on every line in his long face. "Very well, captain." 

After he left, Antonio slumped in his chair and watched Roderigo eat his orange. Clear juices ran down the corners of his mouth and dripped on his bare belly.

"A dilemma," Antonio said at last. "A real dilemma." 

"Is it?" Roderigo asked. "Do you really like being a privateer, Antonio? Do you like being a _mercenary_?"

"I am good at it," Antonio said. "What else can I do?"

"A fair number of things, I wager. I seem to remember some talk about fat widows and _haciendas_."

Antonio flushed. "Easier said than done." 

"You have a fat purse, Antonio. You would not even need the fat widow."

"Not fat enough to save this ship."

Roderigo shrugged. "Sell the ship. Leave the sea."

Antonio swallowed with difficultly. At last he said, "I cannot just remake myself like that, Roderigo."

"Certainly you can," the other man said with wide eyes. "Shedding a life is easy. Certainly easier than shedding your skin. Here, Antonio, here," Roderigo said, reaching out for Antonio's hand across the table. Antonio's palm pressed against Roderigo's cheek, where he felt the other man's smooth, flushed skin. "See? My old skin is gone. It doesn't even hurt anymore. Leaving behind your unhappy occupation will be nothing in comparison."

Roderigo let go of Antonio's hand but Antonio's hand remained on Roderigo's face for a heartbeat and then another. Then Antonio moved his fingers tenderly across that cheek and down to Roderigo's mouth, that tender mouth that had been rimmed with salt and blood when Antonio had pulled the other man from the sea. His lips were sticky with orange juice now, and Antonio passed his thumb slowly over those sugars, as he had passed a handkerchief over salt a lifetime ago. 

Then Roderigo opened his mouth and sucked against Antonio's thumb. 

One of them groaned, or perhaps they both did, and then there was a desperate confusion of rough hands and unnecessary breeches and orange-flavored kisses. They were two bodies in Antonio's bed, and for some time, they said nothing very intelligible.

Outside, the stars appeared, one by one.

And a while later, warm together in the dark, they sleepily confessed all their secrets. 

"Sebastian," Antonio said, tasting the name slowly. "A good name, I declare."

"It was my father's name," Sebastian said. "I did not...I had some hesitation in spreading it, I suppose. But if I am the last of my house, I suppose I must not be shy about upholding it."

Antonio wound his arms around the other man's chest, tight against the firm line of his rib and the slow drum-roll of his heart. "I am sorry. So sorry, Sebastian. What was she like, your sister?"

"Like?" Sebastian said "She was like me, I suppose. But better. Nobler. Capable of everything. I am merely a pale shadow of all her virtues."

Antonio exhaled against the back of Sebastian's neck. "I would have liked to meet her." 

"One day," Sebastian said. "One day, in a better world, I hope you do."

Antonio said, "If I leave the sea, Sebastian, will you come with me?"

Sebastian was so silent and so still that, for a moment, Antonio thought he had gone to sleep. At last he said, in a low voice, "Part of the way, Antonio. I promise you part of the way, at least."

After that, Sebastian slept in truth, but Antonio remained awake, holding tightly to the other man until the stars faded from the sky.

 


End file.
